


Dirk Habit

by PJMax (FactCheck)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Blood, Dissociation, Gen, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:56:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FactCheck/pseuds/PJMax
Summary: Dave wakes up to blood on the floor and a Bro who won't wake up
Kudos: 48





	Dirk Habit

There was blood on the floor.

Dave stared at the puddle, watching the sunlight reflect off of it. There was a white halo inside, framed by bright red that blended out into dark red, the edges black with age. 

Blood.

The glass of apple juice in his hand felt unreasonably cold. It stung his fingers and the room felt hot. No. Cold. It was stuffy. He was just in his boxers, the air conditioner seemed to be blowing air directly on his stomach and head. It was so hot. Dave wished he was wearing a shirt so he could take it off, he couldn’t breathe with the heat of the room.

He was suffocating. 

The blood was a ruby against the natural light and it sparkled, begging Dave to come closer.

God.

“Bro?”

Dave walked closer to the futon. 

Bro was asleep.

Bro was dead.

“Hey, Bro?” Dave knelt next to the couch, avoiding the puddle on the floor and eyeing the soaked white shirt his brother, father, guardian was wearing. “Bro, you’re bleeding.”

Dave reached out with a hesitant hand, hovering over where one of Bro’s arms was thrown over his stomach - the source of the red on his shirt. 

He set the apple juice down on the floor and picked up the arm dangling off the side of the futon, staring at the crisscross of lines.

Dave doubled down, vomiting next to the blood puddle. 

He heaved again, bile rushing forward and pouring out of his mouth. He panted, breath wheezing out of his lungs and tasting like peanut butter on his tongue. 

His gaze refocused, grimacing at the two puddles next to him as he caught his breath and slowly sat back up.

“Bro, are you dead?” The words were whispered, fragile, and Dave cleared his throat, trying again. “Bro, please tell me you’re alive.”

Dave received no reply and he shakily lifted his hand, pressing his finger under the man’s nose to try and feel for air coming in and out. 

He gave a frustrated shout when he couldn’t notice any difference. 

He sat up on his knees, ignoring the blood and laying his head on the man’s chest to try and hear a heartbeat.

Nothing.

He clutched the dirty shirt in his hand, nails digging in more than they had to. 

He sat up quickly, hoping to his feet and racing to the bathroom to get the medical kit.

Dave didn’t know how to sew a wound closed - Bro always did it for him after their strifes. But he could try. 

He doused the man’s wrists in alcohol, tears threatening to fall from his eyes when he got no response to the action. He tried wiping the excess blood off with a clean towel, careful not to apply too much pressure. The wounds had already stopped bleeding though, so there was no real reason to sew the man up.

Right?

Dave gripped his hair. He didn’t know. Bro would know.

Dave opted to dressing the wounded wrists instead. He applied a generous amount of antibiotical ointment before wrapping his guardian’s wrists in gauze. 

He sat back on his knees when he was done, staring at the man behind his shades.

“Bro?” He scooted closer on his knees, gripping the edge of the man’s shirt in his hand. “Bro you’ll be alright, yeah?” 

He received on response.

Dave blinked away tears, ignoring how hard it was to breathe as he gathered the kit back up.

He gave a glance to the puddles of blood and vomit before getting out the cleaning supplies and taking care of the mess. 

The blood stained.

What was Dave supposed to do?

What could he do?

He grabbed his shitty sword from his room, heading to take post in the living room. He sat against the wall, facing Bro and waiting for any response from the man. 

He felt oddly numb, his mind shutting down.

Dave didn’t know for how many hours he sat watching his...the man’s unmoving form.

Hours? Days? Minutes?

There was a hollowness in his stomach, an ache that could be from lack of food or lack of emotions. Dave couldn’t tell the difference and he couldn’t bring himself to move from his spot against the wall.

After what felt like forever, the body moved.

It was a slow movement, a groan. 

“Fuck,”

Dave was on his feet in less than a second, by the man’s side instantly.

“Bro?” He leaned in as close as he could to the man, leaning over him as he watched the man struggle to awakeness. “Bro!”

Dave jumped at the chance, seizing the man around his neck and pulling him against him.

“Bro, what the hell? I was so worried! I thought you were dead-”

“Get off me, little dude, shit.” Dave was forcibly removed, pushed so he was sitting on his knees on the floor again. “Give a man some space. ”

“Sorry, I just…”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Bro groaned again as he pushed himself up, swinging his legs off the couch. Dave watched with bated breath as the man unkinked his spine and neck.

Bro seemed to get distracted by his wrists, bringing them up to look at them before unraveling them.

He snorted at the job before rewrapping it with the same bandage.

“Fuck, hurts like a bitch.” Bro cleared his throat before reaching for Dave’s discarded apple juice and chugging the liquid down. “Go get me some meds.”

Dave hesitated before leaving, afraid that the man would disappear if he left. He was quick to get the bottle of pills, returning at record speed. Bro held out the glass without a word and Dave went to the kitchen to refill it just as fast.

Bro took a handful of meds and washed it down with the juice. He sighed, sitting back against the futon before grimacing at his shirt.

“Little man, go get me a new shirt.” Bro stipped off the bloody one while Dave raced to his guardian’s room, picking up the first shirt he saw on the ground. 

Bro was cleaning his switchblade off on the ruined shirt when Dave returned and the boy’s eyes locked onto the offending instrument. 

“Bro…”

“Let me watch you play something.”

It was a harsh command that broke through any argument and Dave set the shirt down in Bro’s lap while he sat gingerly next to him, picking up the remote and turning on both the T.V. and the play station. 

Dave distractedly played the game, failing more than necessary but Bro didn’t say anything, just watched the screen blankly as Dave’s eyes flickered between the screen and the man.

Dave could feel his hands shaking, the fear still coursing through him and he expected Bro to slump forward at any moment. His leg was jostling and a cold sweat was forming on his brow.

“Bro-”

“Shut up.”

Dave closed his mouth with an audible snap. His fingers pressed numbly against the gaming pad.

Dave’s skin was buzzing, the need for contact that he had never outgrown, the need to solidify the fact that Bro was alive and well and that he wasn’t just dreaming or hallucinating or anything like that. He desperately wanted to lean against the man, feel the heat from his body, feel the beating of his heart. Anything to prove that Bro wasn’t dead.

But Dave knew he couldn’t. He knew the man would push him away, maybe shove him off the couch. Yell at him for being weak.

So Dave pressed the buttons on the controller and tried to ignore the scent of antiseptic and the bloody shirt on the ground.

It would be okay.

Bro had failed to die again. 

For now.


End file.
